


rest your weary bones

by gdgdbaby



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 21:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: Some days the only way to get Ronan to slow down is to get him off quick and dirty — and other days, he's like this: teetering on the edge of exhaustion, just waiting for a reason to slide onto his knees.





	rest your weary bones

**Author's Note:**

> i started this at the end of may, after the podsa live shows in boston, and didn't get around to finishing it up until just now, when i definitely should've been working on other things. it is, however, somewhat topical, considering ronan just spent a week not sleeping while finishing his oxford dissertation. get some rest, small child.
> 
> with thanks to littlemousling, who encouraged this way back when, and winterfold for the quick beta read.

Ronan picks him up at Penn Station, hands tucked loosely in his jeans, leaning against the wall outside the Jamba Juice on the Amtrak level. He's in a soft gray henley and he's wearing his glasses, which is underdressed for him, even if it isn't anything out of the ordinary on a Sunday afternoon in Manhattan.

It's not the first time he's intercepted Lovett in public, but it happens infrequently enough to be of note. Penn Station wouldn't have been Lovett's first choice, anyway, what with the reports of raining sewage and the perpetually sticky floor.

Lovett rolls up to meet him, eyebrows raised. Ronan shrugs and holds a hand out for his suitcase. "Thought we could grab a late lunch first," he explains.

"You don't have to meet up with a source or something?" Lovett shoots back without thinking, and that's not—it isn't fair, he knows, but he's just spent three days suffering through hellish, humid misery in Boston, and every time the Acela shook on the way back down to New York this morning, he thought the train might derail and send them all careening to a fiery death. He thinks he's allowed a bit of grumpiness.

Ronan takes it in stride, because that's just the type of person he is. He only picks fights when he feels like they're worth it. It's one of the best things about him, and also one of the most infuriating. "No sources today," he says simply as they take the escalator up to street level. "You feel like halal?"

Lovett sighs. "Sure," he says, catching Ronan's wrist and squeezing it briefly before letting go. He sees Ronan's shoulders relax a little, just from two seconds of touch, and squares his own. Lovett doesn't have to be back in Los Angeles until the end of the week; he should make the most of his time here, Pulitzer luncheons and all. "Halal sounds good."

 

 

Food turns out to be the right choice; at the very least, he's less hangry. Ronan doesn't say much, inhales his rice bowl like hasn't eaten in days—he probably hasn't, Lovett thinks with a jolt—and taps his foot against the floor waiting for Lovett to finish.

"Hey," Lovett says, reaching forward to press his palm against Ronan's knee. He goes still, peering up at Lovett through his lashes, and that's dirty pool, Ronan knows it is, which makes Lovett smile. "Give me one sec, okay? I'm almost done." He picks up one delicate piece of rice with a prong of his fork and sticks it in his mouth just to watch Ronan roll his eyes. "Then we can go home and do whatever you want."

"I didn't clear out my whole schedule to watch you eat," Ronan says, but there's no heat to it.

Lovett grins. "Oh, cleared out your whole schedule, did you?" Ronan rolls his eyes again and makes like he's going to pull his phone out of his pocket, and Lovett digs his fingers into Ronan's knee, just hard enough that he freezes. "Nope, no phones. You don't need to see any of that stuff right now." He pushes a last forkful of food in his mouth, chews and swallows. "Just focus on me."

Ronan exhales shortly, blinks hard once, twice. Some days the only way to get him to slow down is to get him off quick and dirty—and other days, he's like this: teetering on the edge of exhaustion, just waiting for a reason to slide onto his knees. Sometimes Ronan needs radio silence for two weeks, sometimes he needs Lovett to listen and behave and be good, and sometimes what he needs is for Lovett to be the steady head on the back of his neck so he can take a goddamn break. Reset. They've been together long enough; Lovett knows all the tells. He probably should've figured it out the minute he stepped off the train and saw Ronan slouched in his comfiest clothing, but—better late than never.

"I got you, okay?" Lovett says, voice dipping low with promise.

The corner of Ronan's mouth curls up as his eyes crinkle. "Okay," he says.

 

 

Ronan's apartment is blessedly cool when they walk in, but it's not quite enough to distract from the way Lovett's curls are clumped against his damp hairline, or how he smells like travel. "I'm gonna shower," he says, leaving his suitcase at the front door and wiggling out of his shirt as he turns the corner down the hall. "Come with?"

It's framed as a question, a request, but both of them know better. Lovett's already got the hot water running when Ronan comes in, cradling another old loose henley stacked on top of a fresh towel and a pair of boxer-briefs Lovett left the last time he was here. Lovett steps in first under the spray, letting it blast in his face before turning in a circle and reaching down for the right conditioner. It's easy to fall into the rhythm of soaping up, getting clean. Ronan tips his head back when Lovett twists his fingers through his hair, wet dirty-blond, and massages purple shampoo into the roots. He tips forward and kisses the back of Ronan's neck too, nibbles a little for good measure, and grins when Ronan sighs.

Once all the suds have swirled down the drain, Ronan turns back around and slides a hand down Lovett's stomach, curls his palm around the base of Lovett's dick. It's not even a sexual touch, really. Just exploratory. "Mm," Lovett says, nudging it away and tangling their fingers together. "Not yet."

Ronan raises his eyebrows but doesn't ask. Under the water, the bags under his eyes look particularly pronounced. He droops forward until his forehead is pressed to Lovett's shoulder. Lovett reaches around to drag blunt nails down Ronan's back, once, twice, kissing the side of his face, the shell of his ear. They can't stay like this for too long—Ronan would rib him for the utility bill later, probably—but it's nice to linger.

Lovett towels both of them off, after, and hops into his clothes. Sunlight slants in through the big windows of the living room. He sidles to the couch, Ronan following behind at a more sedate pace, and flops back into a mountain of cushions. "Here," Lovett says, gesturing at the floor, and lays a pillow at his feet.

Ronan settles on his knees kind of stiffly. It's been a while since they've had the time and the privacy to do this, and sometimes the feeling of it takes a minute to sink in.

"Tell me a story," Lovett murmurs, because that usually helps. He reaches out to cup a firm hand around Ronan's nape. "Something with zero stakes, like—" He pauses, thumb rubbing along Ronan's hairline, the warm skin of his neck. "What's the latest hot gossip in your Animal Crossing town?"

Ronan snorts softly. "I wouldn't call that zero stakes."

Lovett bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too much. "Fine. Choose something else, then."

"Hmm," Ronan says, leaning forward to rest his face against Lovett's knee. "I did redownload Pokemon Go. Big mistake."

"Oh, boy."

"It's a good destressor," Ronan huffs, "but then I got into a gym battle at the office last week with some punk, and…"

Lovett lets the lilt of Ronan's voice wash over him; it's always good to hear him talk, and even better when it's not staticy and warped through a phone mic or video chat. And it works: part of the way through recounting the hoops he had to jump through to unlock Mew, Ronan trails off mid-sentence and goes lax against Lovett's legs.

He's shuffled close enough by this point that his face is pressed into Lovett's thigh, inhaling deeply while Lovett plays with his damp hair, the soft fuzzy pieces of it around his ears. Ronan's loose enough now that he doesn't care much about how Lovett's messing with the way it'll dry. The thought makes him laugh, and he bends down to press his mouth to Ronan's temple, listens to the even sound of his breathing.

"Think you can make it to the bedroom, or should I try carrying you?" He doesn't wait for a response before he pulls both of them up to their feet, Lovett's shoulder supported beneath Ronan's armpit. "I've been working out, you know."

Ronan hums, tucking his face into the crook of Lovett's neck, and Lovett can feel the curve of his sleepy smile against his skin. The walk down the hallway isn't far, and Ronan honestly still hasn't gained back all the weight he lost last year, which is something Lovett tries not to think about too often for fear that he might break all the mugs he owns. Being fueled by mostly rage has its downsides.

Lovett tips Ronan into bed first before sliding beneath the top sheet himself. Ronan turns into him immediately, tangling their legs together and pressing his nose against Lovett's collarbone. A startling rush of affection leaps up in Lovett's throat; Ronan doesn't let himself be needy and vulnerable a lot of the time. It always feels like a gift when he is.

One of Ronan's hands skates down to palm Lovett through his boxer-briefs again. "Nope," Lovett says into his hair. "Hands off. Hold still."

Ronan inhales sharply, surprised, but he does it.

"Good," Lovett says, and reaches past the hem of Ronan's underwear curl his fingers around his dick instead. Maybe he wasn't expecting that either, because Ronan's hips stutter up into it for one abrupt moment, and when his head rears back his eyes are wide, the beginnings of a flush rising high in his cheeks. "Let me take care of you. That's what this is about."

He leans in to kiss Ronan properly on the mouth, and Ronan doesn't hesitate to turn it dirty, licking past Lovett's lips, his teeth, their tongues sliding against each other. Lovett's barely touched him and Ronan's already getting hard against his palm. The drag is probably too dry, but Ronan likes it when it hurts a little. He likes it when it hurts a lot, sometimes, but that's not this—that's not what today is for.

Today's for this: being tucked together close under the covers, Lovett moving his hand slow and easy, and Ronan's panting when he pulls away, breaks the kiss in favor of dropping his mouth closer to the shell of Ronan's ear. "You deserve this," Lovett murmurs, and Ronan makes a small gasping noise. "You deserve to feel good, okay?"

Having this much time to do what he wants is heady in a way that Lovett wants to swim in. He's starting to get hard too, warming up underneath his clothes, but he ignores it in favor of concentrating on other details, like the hiccup of breath Ronan lets out when Lovett circles the head of his dick, thumb rubbing up along the vein, and how his flush has spread down past the neck of his shirt. Ronan's trying so hard to be still that he's shaking a little, and Lovett reaches out to let his free hand rest against Ronan's ribs, rub soothing circles against his skin.

"Hey, beautiful," Lovett says, voice breaking, and squeezes the hand around Ronan's dick just a tad tighter. "You're doing so well. Do you want—my mouth, I could—"

Ronan shakes his head, flustered. "Just," he says, scratchy and low, "just this, I'm—ah, fuck—" His hips twitch up helplessly, lips pink and parted, and Lovett kisses him again. Ignores the low-grade arousal still churning in his gut and the way his wrist is starting to ache and how his thigh has gone numb trapped between Ronan's legs, moves his hand faster, precome and sweat easing the way now, Ronan groaning every other exhale as he trembles apart.

He's out like a light the second breath after he comes. Lovett leans forward to press his mouth to Ronan's one last time, feather-light, and then scootches up against the headboard into a half-sitting position to catch his breath, let the tight coil of pleasure in his stomach start to unwind. His dick can wait till tomorrow. He can play whatever Nintendo Switch game Ronan left in the console until he feels sleepy enough to join him.

 

 

Ronan passes out for fourteen hours straight—or, at least, he's still dead to the world when Lovett rolls out of bed to make coffee for the both of them early Monday morning.

He's bleary-eyed when he shuffles into the kitchen as Lovett's sipping at the final dregs of his second cup, blond hair sticking out in every direction, a trail of spit dried at the corner of his mouth. Something warm settles in Lovett's chest. He likes being one of the only ones who gets to see Ronan like this, rumpled and imperfect, trying to shed the residual cobwebs of drowsiness. It never gets old. He accepts the mug Lovett passes over, studying its black contents with puzzled concentration before deciding on half a spoonful of sugar and some half-and-half.

There's no rush to eat; they can get bagels from the bodega down the street later, or grab brunch with Mia if she's feeling like something heartier. But first—Ronan finishes his coffee and dumps his mug next to Lovett's dirty one in the sink, slides over so he can pin Lovett to the counter. "Can we do this now?" Ronan says, half-exasperated and half-amused, snapping the waistband of Lovett's underwear.

Lovett laughs, head tipping back to gaze up at him. "Yeah," he says, hand reaching out to rest against Ronan's hip. "Whatever you want."


End file.
